


so i stayed in the darkness with you

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afghanistan, London?, M/M, ambiguity FTW, dream-walking, i don't even know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson lies in a mobile hospital in a desert in the Middle East while infection tries to eat him from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so i stayed in the darkness with you

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those stories that exploded in my head within the space of about three minutes, and then took far longer for me to turn into actual words. I hadn't any idea what was going to happen before one particular line popped into my head and then detonated.
> 
> I wrote A LOT last week, y'all.
> 
> Thanks as always to Castiron for beta work, and to theplatonicnonyeah for suggestions rendered.

John Watson lies in a mobile hospital in a desert in the Middle East while infection tries to eat him from the inside out. He’s kept under heavy sedation, and if his fever doesn’t break soon, his friend-- the one who had to do the surgery because John can’t exactly operate on himself-- is afraid they won’t be able to get him evacuated. If he doesn’t get to a real hospital soon, he’ll likely lose all use of his arm. He might be lost entirely.

John Watson isn’t aware of any of this, however. He’s going about his normal business.

John does supply checks. He cleans his scalpels and his weapon. He operates on the poor sods who end up under his knife. He saves them all today, for once.

He does rounds in the evening, chats with the kids who are conscious, tries to be encouraging. He helps with a few letters home, to mums and girlfriends (and one boyfriend, but that’s protected under doctor-patient confidentiality, and John promises to see the letter into the mail himself).

John doesn’t have anyone to write home to, unless one counts Harry, and after her last letter he doesn’t.

The tall, slender bloke who is dressed so inappropriately for the desert that it’s laughable follows John for what feels like hours before John gives up and turns around in the supply tent with an expectant look. _You’ve been following me all day, mate_ , John thinks, _what do you want?_

“Find me,” the man says, imperious and ridiculously posh. He turns with a swirl of the coat that must be sweltering in this weather and strides out of the tent.

“What?” John goes to follow him out into the searing heat and sunshine, but he’s gone, like he’d never been there to start with.

**

John stands looking down at the poor bastard with the ruined shoulder; he looks familiar but John can’t place him. He knows who’s behind him as soon as those pale hands alight on his waist, and John lets himself be drawn back against the taller man.

“Find me?” the taller man murmurs against his ear. He holds John hard to his chest, and John feels safe for the first time since his tour started.

“But you’re right here,” John murmurs in reply, tilting his head to give this mysterious person better access to his neck. The man obliges him, trailing kisses down to his shoulder.

“I’m not.”

And John is alone again. He spends the rest of his day looking over his shoulder for danger.

**

“Then where are you?” John asks, before the tall man has a chance to even open his mouth.

“London. Where are you?”

“I’m right here.” John quells the look of protest on the other man’s face, before he has a chance to speak, with a kiss. The other man melts against him.

**

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"I'm sorry, what?" John takes a step closer to the man; he smells amazing, like clean skin and warm silk.

"You're wearing desert camo combat fatigues, and I can see the chain you keep your dogtags on. Obvious: you're in Afghanistan or Iraq." He trails one hand over John face, touch featherlight, and John sighs into the contact.

"Afghanistan," John admits in a murmur, turning his face to press his lips to the tall man’s palm.

"Bugger."

"Yeah."

The look they exchange could melt steel, but the man disappears again before John can get closer.

**

John visits the man with the ruined shoulder often. He doesn’t know what keeps drawing him back to this poor bastard. There's something incredibly familiar about him, but it doesn't worry John that he never quite manages to get a look at the man's face--watching the infection eating away at his shoulder is far too fascinating, and it's not as if the bloke is awake anyway.

The tall, pale man always joins him there, that might be part of it. He doesn’t ask for John to find him anymore. He looks terrified instead.

John consoles him with kisses, and with promises he has no idea if he’ll be able to keep. He knows he wants to, though.

**

“You’re a doctor. A surgeon, I would say.”

“Oh?” John squirms closer. “You’re not naked enough.”

“You’re wearing an--oh!--RAMC patch--” His voice hitches higher. “And the--oh, god yes--callouses on your-- your-- fingers--” His voice disappears entirely for a moment as John makes good use of those fingers. “Tell me that-- that you’re-- oh _fuck_ \-- used to handling scalpels.”

John pauses, momentarily, in his ministrations, to look down into the tall man’s pale eyes; they’re glazed with lust, and something deeper that John isn’t sure he wants to name.

“That... was amazing.”

**

“Swear it,” the tall man sobs, when they’re entwined and John’s hands are everywhere, when John is everywhere, surrounding him, inside him, and it’s all he can do to even form words.

“I swear,” John replies, gasping, trying to keep from losing the pace, from losing himself. He’s pretty sure his orgasm is going to kill him, but that’s ok. “I swear, I’ll find you. I swear.”

“Oh GOD,” the other man cries as he comes.

John is glad that no one ever seems to hear them in the supply tent, no matter how loud they are. No one ever seems to see them at all. With a shout of his own, he lets himself shatter.

**

“I don’t think I’ll see you again,” John murmurs against the nape of his neck. “Not here, anyway.”

“Don’t say that.” He stiffens in John’s arms.

“Something’s changed. You’re going to be going; or else I am, I can’t tell. Those clothes are ridiculous for the desert, anyway.”

“I’m not in the desert. You are.”

“I’m sorry, I really am; I can’t even tell if you’re real.”

“This is the most real I’ve ever been.” The tall man goes still as he realizes he’s being truthful.

“Oh, love,” John murmurs. “Me, too. But I think we’re going to have to be patient.” John sighs, presses his lips harder to the man’s nape; he doesn’t want this anymore than the other man does. Maybe less.

“No!” He turns and clings, buries his face against John’s neck. “I can’t, without you.”

“It’s only for a while longer. I’ll be in London before you know it. I always keep my promises.”

John feels the tears as they drip onto his neck, but he doesn’t say anything, just holds the man all the harder to him. John isn’t ready yet, either.

“Find me,” the tall, naked man pressed against John from head to foot murmurs.

“I will.”

**

John Watson wakes up in a mobile hospital in a desert in the Middle East. His fever has broken but the infection isn’t gone. He’s being prepared to be evacuated back to England, to a hospital outside London.

John doesn’t know why the mention of London sends a thrill up his spine.

John won’t remember the promises he made to a strange, pale bloke for almost a whole year, until they’re both soaking wet and stinking of chlorine, and John is giving him CPR next to the remains of a pool.

**

Sherlock Holmes wakes up in a hospital bed after being blown up, with John Watson beaming down at him, and he remembers.

“Ah, you found me,” he murmurs, smiling contentedly, eyes drifting shut again, fighting the tide of the sedation.

“I keep my promises,” John replies against his ear, the words following him back into unconsciousness.


End file.
